


Once Bitten

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Series Two [18]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Family, Mpreg (sort of), Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: Canton Everett Delaware III knew something was up when his grandson, Patrick, hadn't shown up at the airport as promised.  Little did he know just what was keeping Patrick from coming to pick him and his husband up...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Since there isn't a Gwen Cooper getting married in this universe, this is the story that takes place instead of "Something Borrowed". Hope you enjoy!

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

****

There had been a time when Canton Everett Delaware III had loved to travel.

He’d done a lot of it in his line of work.  Being the Special Investigator to the President of the United States had meant he’d been sent many different places, and he’d seen a lot in his time…most of it mysterious; some of it terrifying, but the majority of it fantastic.  He had one of the highest security clearances available for a reason; only Director Nick Fury of SHIELD had one as high.

There were only a couple higher in the world, and he was going to visit one of those in Cardiff.  One he hadn’t seen in far too long.

Now, however, he only travelled for leisure, and not part of any sort of mission.  Which was fine; Canton was too old to really enjoy travelling long distances anymore, and he always went with his husband.  Of course, he and Pat couldn’t be legally married, but that didn’t matter.  Not to Canton…and not to the rest of his family.  They’d been together for far too long to care what anyone else thought.

Of course, he knew where they were going the people wouldn’t care, either.  Canton was well aware of the relationships that went on within Torchwood, and he hadn’t gotten that information from his grandson, Patrick.  It wasn’t a secret about Torchwood’s leaders being in a committed relationship; pretty much everyone in the intelligence community was aware of Jack Harkness’ proclivities, even if they weren’t sure just what Torchwood did, and it had been a source of astonishment when it had gotten around that the infamous flirt was off the market. 

Canton had done his own research on Harkness, and had been pleasantly surprised to discover that the Director of the Torchwood Institute had been a companion of the Doctor in another of the Time Lord’s incarnations.  To be honest, Harkness hadn’t seemed the type, but if the Doctor had seen something in him to allow the man to travel with him, then there had to be something there under the surface of the seemingly inveterate letch.   

He hadn’t felt at all bad about making certain his only grandson’s CV had gotten to Torchwood for review.  And from what Patrick had shared – what he could share – Canton had known he’d made the right decision.

Even though he missed Patrick something fierce.  He’d gotten used to him being in the Washington, DC area, so having Patrick living across the ocean was hard.  But still, he knew his grandson was happy with what he was doing, which was all that mattered.

Pat touched his elbow, guiding his steps toward the sign that indicated where baggage claim was.  Canton tugged the brim of his baseball cap down over his eyes as he strode in the direction his husband had indicated.  He was excited about seeing Patrick again, and he quickened his pace despite the fact that he was exhausted from the transatlantic flight.

Canton had actually never been in Cardiff before.  He was looking forward to seeing the city; Patrick had promised them sightseeing, with a friend of his getting them the perfect itinerary.  Now Pat had visited the city once, when on assignment with whatever magazine he’d been with at the time, but that had been twenty-five years ago.  To be fair, Pat had seen much more of the world than Canton had, even if Canton had actually been gone from home more. It had been the nature of their jobs.

Collecting their bags, the two men made their way to the exit.  Once outside Canton squinted against the sunlight that streamed in under the covered roadway, searching for their grandson who said he would be picking them up. 

“Canton,” Pat murmured, touching his elbow. 

He turned to regard Pat, who jerked his head down the length of the cars waiting for new arrivals.  He looked in that direction, and his heart sank a little at the sight of a young blonde woman standing next to a large black SUV, holding up a hand-printed sign that said “DELAWARE-ANDREWS” on it.

Something must have kept Patrick from coming, Canton sighed mentally as he and Pat made their way toward the woman.  She was pretty, wearing a dark blue jacket and skirt, with a pale yellow blouse underneath.  She looked innocent and harmless, but Canton could tell that the jacket had been tailored to hide some sort of weapon underneath.

She seemed too young to be working for Torchwood.

The woman smiled happily, showing dimples.  “I’m so very glad to finally meet you both,” she greeted, dropping the sign to one hand so she could offer the other to both of them.  “Patrick has told us all so much about you.”

“Patrick couldn’t make it?” Pat inquired, taking the hand. 

The smile fell.  “I’m afraid not,” she confessed as Canton shook with her.  Her hand was cool, and her grasp firm.  “I’m Deborah Morrison.  He asked me to come and get you, and to take you on to the hotel.  He’ll join you as soon as he can.” 

Canton was disappointed, but it was the way it was. Patrick worked a demanding job, and things happened. 

One side of the young woman’s mouth quirked upward.  “I should also say that, while Patrick has gotten his Welsh drivers’ licence, he doesn’t actually own a car yet…to the great relief of the Cardiff constabulary…”

Pat huffed a quiet laugh, while Canton flat-out chuckled.  Patrick had told them stories about trying to learn the Welsh traffic laws, and about failing his driver’s test the first time he’d taken the exams.  It didn’t surprise him at all that the local LEO’s were happy that they didn’t have to watch out for a crazy American driver on their roads.  And, if Torchwood did work at all with the Cardiff police then they would have been aware of just who was on the team, and to be aware of who drove what.

But then, Patrick had always been a crazy driver.  He took after his mother in that respect.

“And he hasn’t actually found anyone on the team willing to lend him their car,” she went on, pulling a keyfob from her pocket and pushing it.  There was a beep, and the rear lifted up.  “We’ll get your bags situated and then on to the hotel.”

The two men rolled their suitcases to the back of the SUV.  Canton noted the neatly stacked boxes and containers in the back, and wondered who was responsible for stowing the team’s gear because they’d done a nice job, while leaving room for their cases and carry-ons.  His hands itched to open the containers and see what was inside, but he kept the urge to himself. 

He let Pat take the front; with his longer legs, his husband would be more comfortable with the legroom.  Canton took the back, putting himself behind his husband, and he immediately noticed the high-tech gear in the rear compartment.  He buckled up as Deborah came around to the driver’s side.  She expertly maneuvered the large vehicle into traffic.

It was a gloomy day, but Canton hardly noticed as he wondered just what might have kept Patrick from meeting them, when he’d practically swore he’d be at the airport waiting for them.  Instead, he’d sent Deborah Morrison…Canton had done as much of a background check on the members of Torchwood as he could have done before arranging to get Patrick’s CV sent, what with his now limited resources, and what he’d discovered about the young woman hadn’t really added up.  Yes, she had extensive records but apparently none of them had existed before around Christmas of last year.  It wasn’t something anyone would have noticed on a fairly comprehensive check, but there had been extremely subtle clues if one knew where to look.  And Canton had.

There had also been an overlay, one that said that Deborah Morrison worked for the Welsh Tourism Board and had done for a little over three months…just about the same amount of time that Patrick had been there.  He knew there was more going on with her, but there hadn’t been anything in her records to give him any sort of place to start digging.  If anyone had done any sort of checking on the surface it would have shown a Ms Deborah Morrison as a model government employee with a respectable job that didn’t have anything to do with a special team that chased after aliens and such for a living.

She was just as mysterious as Torchwood’s Director and Second-in-Command.  It was refreshing in a way that Canton couldn’t really find out all that much about them.

Someone had done an exemplary job at all three of their backgrounds, and Canton really wanted to meet them.  He would have suspected Toshiko Sato; she certainly had the ability with computers.  But Harkness and Jones had been around longer than she had, so that at least let her out as far as those two were concerned.

Doctor Owen Harper, though…his records were an open book.  Education was top-notch despite not having the advantages of money or influence; worked at a large Cardiff hospital until the death of his fiancée, Katie Russell; recruited to Torchwood soon after.  His and Sato’s were the backgrounds he could easily get his hands on, being mostly in the public record.  Sato, though, had history with UNIT and that organisation hadn’t been all that happy that Harkness and Jones had gotten her out of their hands when they’d realised what an asset they’d lost.  She’d also apparently once been accused of stealing secrets from Tony Stark, but had been completely cleared and the genius had attempted to hire her. However, then her mother had been kidnapped and she’d been forced to work for the kidnappers.  Canton had very little respect for anyone who threatened to kill someone’s mother in order to get them to do their own dirty work for them.

He wondered if Toshiko had ever found out just what Harkness and Jones had done to the terrorists when they’d caught up with them…

It had made Canton predisposed to liking them both just for that.

Phil had also had input into what Canton had been able to find out about Torchwood, giving him some insight into at least Harkness and Jones’ characters.  He’d dealt with them before in his capacity as Third at SHIELD, and apparently his lover, Clint Barton, had actually met Jones and Sato – and Patrick – in Geneva during events that were so highly classified that even with Canton’s clearance he couldn’t get a look at the report; in fact, he’d even doubted there was a physical file.  He did know that Clint had been levelled up in the SHIELD hierarchy afterward, so Canton had no doubt it had had something to do with aliens.  Enough for Clint to know all about Torchwood and some sort of secret he’d discovered while on site at CERN.

Canton really wanted to know what that secret was, but he was savvy enough to realise he’d probably never find out.

Still, he was concerned about Patrick.  It wasn’t like his grandson to break a promise, so it must have been some mission that Canton or Pat couldn’t be privy to. He had a nagging worry in the back of his mind that something was wrong, but Pat’s secret spousal-reading ability told him he wasn’t being subtle when his husband asked, “Is Patrick alright?”

Deborah grimaced.  “He is, but there was a mission last night, and there are still a few things that need to be taken care of before he can leave the Hub.  I promise you…the only injury he received was a bite in his arm.  He’s fine.”

There was something in her voice that Canton couldn’t read, and he wondered just what this young woman had been through for her to become almost inscrutable to him.  Still, he suddenly had the need to see Patrick as soon as they could.  “We’d like to be taken to this Hub, Ms Morrison,” he requested, putting just enough steel in his words that she would most likely interpret it as an order.

Still, it seemed like she wasn’t going to be a pushover.  “I understand that you’re concerned about Patrick, Mr Delaware – “

“Yes, we both are,” Pat spoke up.

“– but I cannot take you to the Hub,” she finished.  “It’s more than my job is worth to bring civilians onto the base without authorisation.  Even civilians with as high a clearance as yours, sir.”

It made Canton frustrated, but she was right of course.  He and Pat had absolutely no reason to set foot into the Torchwood Hub, except for a nagging worry about their only grandson.  He did have enough respect for Director Harkness to know that if anything was wrong with Patrick, he wouldn’t be hiding it.  He’d be up-front with them about it. 

So, he would take Deborah’s word for now, until such time as he could prove something wasn’t right about the situation.

He didn’t have to be happy about it, though.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

**_Earlier that Morning_ **

 

Patrick awoke that morning, and didn’t want to get up out of bed.

It had been late when they’d gotten the call out, after a really fun night out on the town.  Patrick had enjoyed himself very much, and hadn’t been happy when the signal had come in through Jack’s wrist strap.  He and the boss had been the only two even remotely sober enough to answer it; Jack had had water all night, and Patrick hadn’t wanted to risk a hangover, not when his grandfathers were coming into town later today, so he’d stuck with only a couple of beers and a steady diet of pub food. 

In fact, his stomach was feeling a bit off…he wondered if he hadn’t eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him.

Anyway, the Rift alert had ended up being a creature Jack hadn’t recognised…which was a rarity, Patrick had thought as it had led him and Jack in a merry chase throughout Cardiff, until Patrick had cornered it in an alley where he’d quickly discovered that the alien was also a shapeshifter as well, when it had tried to fake him out by taking the form of a young girl who’d bared the ugliest fucking teeth at him when he hadn’t fallen for it. 

Patrick didn’t know how he’d known.  There’d just been something off about the ‘girl’; perhaps it had been the way ‘she’ had moved, but it had sent Patrick’s instincts tingling.  The alien had launched itself at him, and Patrick had had no choice but to go hand-to-hand.

He’d learned self-defence from his mother, and knew he’d made a fairly good showing of himself, but the creature had still managed to get in a serious bite to his left forearm before he’d had no choice but to shoot.  However, one bullet hadn’t been enough to stop it, and Patrick had had to put seven slugs into it before it went down for good.

Jack had gotten him patched up, not wanting Owen anywhere near his arm while the medic was plastered; he really did trust Owen, but not in that condition.  Luckily Jack had been through enough wars to know battlefield first aid and had managed to get the bleeding stopped and the injury wrapped up, plus a shot of antibiotics just in case.  Then Patrick had gone home and gone to bed.

Now he was awake, and he realised something was off as he laid there.

It wasn’t just how bad his stomach felt.  His left arm was itching like hell under the bandage Jack had applied.  His entire body didn’t feel like his own, like something had crawled underneath his skin and died there.  There was a metallic taste in his mouth that didn’t have anything to do with good beer and even better friendship. 

And he really had to take a piss.

Groaning, Patrick sat up and slung his legs over the edge of the bed…but his body felt ungainly, like he’d put on weight in the couple of hours he’d actually been asleep.  In the darkness of his bedroom he really couldn’t make out too much, only that his pyjama bottoms were way too tight and his shirt was bound across his belly like some sort of full torso pressure bandage.

It reminded him of the time he’d had cracked ribs and just how tightly the doctors had wrapped them, like he couldn’t breathe against the tightness.

Patrick levered himself out of bed, almost losing his balance and falling back onto the mattress.  He managed to stay on his feet by sheer force of will, and stumbled his way toward the bathroom, flipping on the light as soon as he could reach it.

Blinking in the suddenly harsh light, Patrick leaned against the sink, hissing as the pain in his arm intensified when he put his weight on it.  He looked down…and that’s when he noticed his abdomen.

No way…

He felt like screaming.  Instead, he made a rather panicked phone call to Jack Harkness.

 

**********

 

“This is not happening!”

The panic hadn’t faded much at all in the 45 minutes it took Jack to get there, towing with him a groggy Owen who looked like he was one minute away from worshipping the porcelain goddess by donating the contents of his stomach to it.

Not that Patrick didn’t feel the same way.  Just for entirely different reasons.

“You’re pregnant,” Owen reported.

“Jack!” Patrick exclaimed, “Owen says I’m pregnant!”

“Almost full term, if I’m not mistaken,” the medic went on, sounding almost gleeful.

Patrick really wanted to punch Owen, but he was only stating what looked like the obvious.  Besides, he doubted he’d be able to get off the couch without help.

“That’s what it looks like to me,” Jack agreed. He simply stood there as Owen looked Patrick over, using some sort of scanner he’d brought along.  For some reason he didn’t sound as shocked as someone might have on discovering that their very male employee had somehow gotten pregnant in just a couple of hours.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned.  “What the hell?”

This couldn’t be happening.  Sure, he knew a lot of weird stuff went on with Torchwood, but this?  This was bat-shit insane!  It was impossible!  Men didn’t get pregnant overnight! Fuck, men didn’t get pregnant _at_ _all_!

Owen’s scanner beeped.  He squinted at it, as if trying to get past the hangover Patrick just knew he had.  “It's an exo-biological insemination.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”  Patrick thought he might be hyperventilating a little.  Only he never did that sort of thing.

And he’d thought getting his neutrons sucked out of his body had been unbelievable?

“Must have been that alien last night,” Jack mused.  Then he grinned.  “At least it isn’t me in this condition.  I swore I’d never get pregnant again.”

All Patrick could do was stare at his boss, his mind short-circuited.

When it finally came back online, he began to panic in earnest.  “How the fuck does a man get pregnant?" His voice was squeaking and he didn’t care.  This was so beyond his frame of reference he couldn’t process it.

“Through the bite.”  Jack indicated the bandage on Patrick’s left arm.  In all the upset, he’d completely forgotten he’d gotten bitten.  “Passed the eggs on in the bite. Some species do that. A kind of sneaky way of keeping the bloodline going. Boy, would Darwin have had a field day if he'd made it to space.”

He stared down at the white gauze, letting Jack’s words just sort of pass over his head.  There were tiny spots of blood against the white, and it spoke to Patrick’s state of mind that it didn’t even register. 

“Listen Delaware,” the medic said, trying and failing with the bedside manner, “you’re gonna to be fine, I promise, okay? If there was any biological incompatibility you would be dead.”

“That’s certainly comforting.”  Patrick couldn’t hide his panicked sarcasm.

“Now,” Owen went on, “according to my scan you're carrying a non-sentient blastopheric mass.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It's a kind of alien egg. But don’t worry -- I'm going to look after you. We've got procedures for this situation.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide.  “This sort of thing’s happened before?” Why wasn’t he surprised by that?

Oh yeah, right…Torchwood.

“You've heard of immaculate conception, haven't you?” Jack shrugged. “Well…”

That…actually made a weird sort of sense…

“Right, we take you back to the Hub,” Owen explained. “You lie back, I run you through a bio-xenic microtron, a couple of days off your feet, and you'll be right as rain.”  He was trying to sound comforting but Patrick just wanted to call him a condescending git.

And then it hit him.

“A couple of days?” Patrick actually managed to get off the sofa in his sheer hysteria.  “My grandparents are coming today!  How the hell do I explain this?” He waved his uninjured hand over his distended abdomen.  “Oh, hey, Granddads…this isn’t some sort of giant tapeworm, an alien got me knocked up!  But I’ll be fine, I just can’t do any of the things we’d planned on your _short visit to Cardiff_ to see your only _grandson_!” Patrick actually felt like he was going to cry.

“Look Patrick,” Jack tried to be soothing, “I understand you’re upset, and you’re not thinking clearly at the moment…but we will work this out, okay?”

“Yeah mate,” Owen added.  He began putting his kit away.  “This isn’t something we can’t fix.”

Patrick found himself calming down a little, now that it seemed like Owen was taking this seriously.  Jack was also exuding quiet, his normally frenetic boss taking a slow step forward to rest his hands on Patrick’s shoulders.  It felt grounding, and Patrick took a deep breath, then let it out, trying to slow his racing heartbeat down.

“Okay,” he sighed out.  “I’m calm.”

Both Jack and Owen looked grateful.

“Wait,” Patrick said, now that his thoughts were back in some semblance of order, “why can’t we use the singularity scalpel to get rid of it?”  It had worked on Martha with the Mayfly…

“It worked once,” Jack answered.  “But even Owen will admit he hasn’t gotten it to work since.”

Owen was chagrined.  “Yeah, Harkness is right.  I thought I knew how it worked, but since that one time with Martha I haven’t been able to do a fucking thing with it.  I wouldn’t want to put a hole through you just because you can’t explain to the family why you can’t meet with them.”

“I’d rather you miss a couple of days with them,” Jack pointed out, “than have to explain to them how you’d died.” He shuddered. “I’m pretty sure your uncle would find a way to kill me permanently if I had to explain why we used something quick and experimental instead of something slow yet proved to work.”

Yes, Jack had a point.  He’d seen Owen play with the scalpel a lot since the first – and only – time he’d got it working, and even though Patrick had been looking forward to his grandfathers visiting it wasn’t worth risking his life over.  Besides, if they already had a procedure for this, and it was tried and true, then he should use it instead. 

Jack also was right about his Uncle Phil.  He was extremely creative when it came to getting even with someone who’d pissed him off.

“Let’s get you back to the Hub,” Jack went on.  “Ianto can get the microtron up from the Archives; he’ll know where it’s stored.  Tosh can work on getting it assembled while, you, Owen, get started on the autopsy on the alien that bit him.  The more we know about this species the better things will be.”

“And here I was hoping to be able to sleep in today,” Owen groused.

“How do you think I feel?” Jack countered.  “I get to wake the sleeping dragon.  Thank Goddess Ianto doesn’t get the hangover that most everyone else will have to deal with.  And don’t get me started on Toshiko’s wounded tiger attitude after a night of drinking.” 

Patrick had to laugh despite everything.  “Fine, but there’s no way you’re gonna get me past Ms Simons down the hall.  She’s the biggest snoop in the building.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

 

At least no one laughed too hard when Patrick came waddling into the Hub, with Jack and Owen as his escorts.  Although, he could tell it was a close thing, and the day was young.

Rhys wasn’t in yet, nor was Deborah, so all he had to deal with were Ianto’s and Toshiko’s reactions.  Ianto’s lips merely twitched once and then he was off down into the Archives to look for Owen’s gadget.  Toshiko snorted indelicately, turning back to her computer in order not to look in Patrick’s direction as Owen and Jack helped him lever himself onto the sofa to await whatever the hell procedure he would have to go through to get this alien egg out of him.

“Jack?” he asked as he was settled onto the sofa.

“Yeah?”

“Can you have Deborah go and pick up my grandfathers at the airport?”  That seemed to be the best alternative to him, being stuck on base until he was quite a bit less pregnant.

Jack pouted.  “I thought I might go and do it…”  He actually was disappointed that Patrick hadn’t asked him to do it.

For a split second, Patrick felt a bit guilty for it, but then he realised what a bad idea that would be.  “Deborah isn’t likely to pump them for information on my childhood, Harkness.  There’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near them without me being in the same room.”

The pout was replaced by a sly smirk.  “At least you’re not forbidding me to flirt with either of them.”

With that, his boss flounced toward his office, leaving Patrick open-mouthed and speechless.

Owen chortled.  “Never give him an inch, cause he’ll take the whole bloody mile.”

“You’d think I’d know that by now,” Patrick groaned.

The medic patted him on the shoulder awkwardly.  “You’ll learn, mate.”

Patrick slumped back, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.  “Why did Ianto have to go down to the Archives before making coffee?”

“There’s some in the kitchen,” Toshiko called out over her shoulder, confirming that the tech expert was indeed listening in.

“Bless the dragon,” Owen exclaimed.  He headed toward the kitchen.

“Please bring me some?” Patrick whined.  He was aware that he sounded like a little kid, but he’d had a hell of a morning already.

“Get it yourself, Delaware!” Owen sniped back.

“Caffeine is bad for the baby,” Toshiko teased.  She still wasn’t looking at him, but now her shoulders were shaking.

“It’s not a real baby,” he was duty bound to point out.  That appeared to be even funnier to Toshiko, judging from the choked noises she was making.

Patrick tried to get up off the sofa, but he’d managed to sink down so far he couldn’t get enough leverage to manoeuvre his belly forward.  He growled in frustration.  “I can’t get up!” he snapped.  “How do women do this for nine months?”  He felt nothing but sympathy toward the female gender for having to carry babies.  “My feet hurt, I’m pretty sure my ankles are swollen, and I have heartburn.  I’m also craving something and I’m afraid to even guess what that might be and don’t even get me started with having to piss every five minutes!”

“Hormones,” Owen said sagely, handing Patrick his mug which he took gratefully.  “You might not be a woman, but your body is still reacting like it’s pregnant with your own spawn.”  He seemed utterly fascinated and was looking at Patrick like he wanted to dissect him or something.  It creeped him out.  “Blood samples definitely, since you’re a man and your body shouldn’t be doing that.  Might be something to do with the egg implantation.”

“Autopsy first,” Jack called from the door of his office.  “And you didn’t think to bring me a cup?”

“Delaware’s got an excuse,” the medic snorted.  “You’re still able to see your feet.”

With that remark, Owen retreated to the autopsy bay. 

Patrick aimed his smug expression right at Jack, who rolled his eyes – it was nowhere as good a job that Ianto could pull off – then headed for the kitchen to get his own mug.  “Can I have some cookies please?” he called after Jack, hoping he sounded pitiful enough.

Jack didn’t answer, but a few minutes later he came back with a bag, tossing it at Patrick who caught it easily.  “They’re called biscuits in these parts,” his boss corrected.  “Think you’ll learn that someday?”

“Probably,” Patrick admitted.  He ripped open the package and stuffed one into his mouth.  Oh lovely…they’re the ones with the jam in them.  Jammie Dodgers, according to the wrapping.  They were his favourite.  “In about fifty years.”  Crumbs erupted from his mouth, and normally he would have been embarrassed by his disgusting eating habits but today he was just too hungry to care. 

That got him a laugh, which Patrick thought was well deserved.  It didn’t matter how long he lived in Wales; he knew there were just some things he’d probably never get used to.  He wasn’t like Jack, who’d had over a century to adapt to living in Cardiff.  Besides, a perverse part of him felt that his Americanisms kept the others on their toes, and he liked it that way.

Patrick had been sitting there just long enough to start thinking about ways to get his now bloated self off the couch and into the bathroom, when the cog door alarm went off and Rhys appeared, carrying two full bags of what could only have been groceries.  He stopped at the sight of Patrick, and his jaw dropped.  “Bloody Torchwood,” he exclaimed.  “Only here would I see a man looking like he was eight months gone.”

He made his way toward the sofa, where he deposited the two bags beside Patrick.  “You’re lucky Jack called me, mate,” he said.  “You’re also lucky I believed him when he asked me to bring a few things from the shops for you.  Although he didn’t say a damned thing about why you needed weird shit to eat…or how he even had a clue about that sort of thing…”

Patrick silently reminded himself to thank his boss for thinking about him.

Just the proximity of food made Patrick’s stomach rumble.  He took the opportunity to tear into the bags, which had Rhys laughing.  “Not all of it’s yours,” he said, “and should you even be having coffee?”

With a cry of triumph Patrick pulled a jar of dill pickles out, followed by crunchy peanut butter.  “It’s not a real baby,” he denied, wrenching off the lids of both jars, something in him demanding that they’d taste wonderful together.  He slipped one of the spears out from its brothers and dipped it into the peanut butter.

Rhys made a gagging noise as Patrick proceeded to chow down.

Who would have known that pickles and peanut butter went that well together?

“That is disgusting,” the Welshman groused as Patrick treated another pickle spear in the same manner.

“It’s really not,” Patrick argued, not caring what anyone thought.  This was what his body wanted, so by God he was going to provide it!

“Are you sure that’s not a real kid?”

Patrick nodded.  “Owen says it’s some kind of egg.  He’s going to take some blood to see what it’s doing to me, because he says I shouldn’t really be acting like a really pregnant woman at all.” But at that moment he as more interested in eating than finding out _why_ he wanted to eat. 

He dug around a bit more, much to Rhys’ amusement, and discovered more cookies, a hunk of cheese, crackers, and a jar of Marmite.  He’d never had that before, but had a feeling he was going to enjoy it a lot. 

Rhys managed to get everything else – the coffee and some other things he’d picked up for the kitchen – into their own bag and he went into the kitchen to put it all away.  The best way to keep it out of Patrick’s grasping fingers, more like. Now that the food gates had been opened, Patrick was determined to fill them with everything he could get his hands on.

He had no real clue how long he sat there stuffing his face.  He did know when Deborah showed up; she took one look at him – and a sight he must have been, too, with crumbs all over the sweatshirt he’d managed to get on over his pregnancy gut and the worn sweatpants that he’d barely been able to pull up over his hips – and then handed him a spoon, which made getting the Marmite out of the jar that much easier. 

Marmite and cheese on crackers was like manna from Heaven.

After that, though, he began to notice just how Deborah was treating him.  The first thing that appeared after the spoon was a footstool, and he sighed when he finally got his swelling ankles elevated.  She then brought him an actual plate for his snacks, as well as a garbage bag where he could dump his trash without tossing it on the floor or hoarding it on the sofa, which would have led to a really pissed off dragon.  A folded blanket ended up next to him, as well as a couple of pillows.  Drinks suddenly appeared, anything from juice to a soda to some tea…but no coffee, which didn’t make any sense but Patrick took it in stride.

And, every time Deborah did something for him, he’d get this look from her as if he was completely and utterly breakable.

It was kinda nice having someone looking out for him.  It didn’t happen all that often, although that was all Patrick’s doing.  He was an independent man, damnit.  He could look after himself.

He tried to convince himself that the tears that blurred his vision were allergies.

Yeah…allergies.  Not at all pregnancy hormones.  Because men didn’t have pregnancy hormones.  No matter what they were carrying around in their abdomens.

At some point, food lost its fascination and naptime came around.  Patrick was exhausted; after last night’s chase after whatever the hell it was that had bit him and implanted its alien spawn in him it had been nearly three in the morning before he’d managed to make it to his own flat and to face plant into his bed.  Then of course he’d gotten up way too early to discover he’d somehow swallowed a basketball in the middle of the night without knowing it.  He had every right to be tired.

The next thing he remembered was someone’s phone ringing nearby.

Even without witnessing it he just knew it had been Deborah who’d covered him with the blanket.  Patrick was going to do something really nice for her once he could be seen out in pubic again.

“Jones.”

Well, that answered the question of whose phone had woken him up out of a very sound sleep.

Patrick decided to keep his eyes shut and to snuggle back down on the couch.  It was quite a comfortable sofa, he had to admit.  A lot better than the one in his flat, that was for sure.

Only he didn’t get to go back to sleep.

“Patrick,” Ianto’s voice close to his ear had him opening his eyes blearily.  The dragon was holding his phone out toward him, and Patrick took it without thinking.  “It’s your Uncle Phil.”

He brought the cell phone up to his ear, wondering just why his uncle was calling him.  “Hullo?” he said, sounding as if he’d just woken up.  Which he had.

_“Patrick,”_ his uncle said, using his calmest Agent Coulson voice…which meant Uncle Phil was at his most dangerous and that heads were going to roll if he didn’t hear what he needed to.  _“I’ve just received a most disturbing phone call from your Grandfather Canton.  Apparently you weren’t able to meet them at the airport?”_

Oh, shit.  Granddad Canton must have called after Deborah had picked him and Grandpa Pat up at the airport.  Of _course_ that couldn’t have gone smoothly. 

He knew he couldn’t tell his Uncle Phil everything.  Yes, he had an impressive security clearance but not quite enough to get the details...and like hell was he going to admit that he was pregnant with an alien egg, it was just too embarrassing.  Still, he had to say something that would ease the tension that he knew had to be filling his uncle…and of course, his grandfathers.

He really did love it that his family worried about him. 

“Look,” he began, “there was a callout last night that got out of hand.”  There was a silence on the line that Patrick wanted to fill with anything to keep his uncle from fearing the worst.  “I’m okay, but I _was_ injured.  Our doctor just wants to keep me under observation to make sure there wasn’t anything…hinky going on.”

There was some more silence, and the Uncle Phil said, _“I know I’m only getting a part of the story…”_

Well, there _was_ a reason why Uncle Phil was Number Three at SHIELD, and it wasn’t because of his charming personality and sense of humour.  Although, knowing how Nick Fury understood his uncle’s deadpan delivery when most of the time it flew over the heads of others…it was because he could figure things out without anyone having to actually say anything. 

_“However I do understand why.  You couldn’t have at least called Canton and Pat and let them know you were alright?”_

Shit again.  “I…left my phone at my place this morning when I had to call Owen and get him to check on me.  I…just didn’t think about it.”  Guilt flooded him.  He really should have thought to call.  One of the team would have been more than happy to let them borrow their phone.  It was a lame excuse and he knew Uncle Phil was seeing right through it and assuming the worst once more.  “Plus I’ve actually been sleeping a lot.”  He said that last bit quicker, as if to make up for the awful excuse of not getting in touch.  It didn’t matter that it was the truth; it really did sound just like something he’d made up on the fly.

_“Call them, Patrick.  Let them hear your voice so they don’t think you’re dead and Harkness is just covering it up.”_

“I will,” he promised.  “As soon as I get off the phone with you, I’ll call.”

_“Alright.”_ Uncle Phil’s voice was still that same bland that he was so good at, but Patrick could hear the relief underlying the words.  _“Now, I need to get back to work. I have a couple of unruly specialists to corral.”_

Patrick snorted.  “Say hello to Clint and Natasha for me.”  He only really worked with two people as a handler, and Strike Team Delta was the best of the best.

There was a small sigh that he barely heard over the line.  _“I will.  At least I won’t have to send them over to Cardiff to locate you now.  Director Fury hates me misusing SHIELD assets for personal reasons.”_

And he would, too, and Patrick knew Fury well enough to know he would have let Uncle Phil do it despite the regulations.

Patrick said his goodbyes and disconnected.  Ianto was waiting there patiently for the return of his phone, one eyebrow cocked upward.  It really was a toss-up between his boss and his uncle on who could speak the most with just that one little facial expression.

“You forgot to call your grandparents?” There was a faint tone of dismay in the dragon’s question.

“Well,” Patrick said, “it’s not every day that a person wakes up to find out he’s pregnant and there weren’t even any fun times had to get there.”

The unspoken, _you may have a valid point,_ was evident in Ianto’s shrug.  “You’d better call them, then,” he prompted. 

Patrick was just about to do just that when Owen’s bellow of, “Harkness!” rattled about the Hub. 

“That sounds a bit ominous,” the dragon mused.

Patrick couldn’t disagree. 

He held his hand out, asking silently for help, which Ianto obliged, levering him off the sofa.  It took Patrick a few seconds to get his balance because of the change in his centre of gravity, but that was enough time for Jack to appear from his office and hurry toward the autopsy bay.   

The rest of the team followed, because Owen being that shouty without the usual snarkiness really wasn’t a good thing.  They gathered at the rail in order to look down onto the medic’s domain.  The first thing Patrick did notice was the hulking machine that now took up a large part of the room, gleaming almost balefully under the bright lights.  It must have been the microtron, and Patrick had to wonder just how Ianto had managed to get it up from the Archives without waking him up.  Or even how he’d done it on his own, for that matter.

Owen was standing over the corpse of the alien that had bitten Patrick earlier that morning, the body open with the guts spilled out all over various tables and containers.  Not normally someone easily grossed out, Patrick suddenly felt his snack wanting to make a reappearance.  He swallowed convulsively, not wanting to make a fool out of himself by vomiting over the railing and into the bay below.

The medic was holding up something that was black and disgusting, and his face was even more sour than usual.  “We have a problem,” he said, hefting up whatever the hell that was in his hand.

It was by sheer will power alone that prevented Patrick from puking at the sight.  He felt somewhat better when he noticed that Ianto and Rhys looked equally sick.  It was a good thing Deborah wasn’t around at the moment, because Patrick just knew she’d be in the same boat as the three of them were.  Not surprisingly, both Jack and Toshiko seemed just fine.

“What is it?” Jack demanded.

Owen lifted it a little, as if wanting to give Jack a better view.  At that point Patrick just couldn’t look any longer.  “A Proteus gland.  The shape-shifting organ of a Nostrovite.”

“What the hell is a Nostrovite?” Rhys blurted.

Patrick was glad he’d asked, because he didn’t think he could open his mouth at the moment.  Of course Patrick had noticed the alien’s ability to change its shape, but he really wanted to know what made this alien just that horrible…besides the whole ‘injecting its egg into him’ thing.

“Trouble,” Jack answered darkly as Owen dropped the thing into a metal pan with an audible squish.  “Big trouble.”

No, that didn’t sound bad _at_ _all_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

 

Canton was pacing.  He couldn’t help it.

From the moment he’d hung up from Phil, he found he just couldn’t sit still.  Unlike Pat, who could be calm in the heart of the worst war zones imaginable, Canton was someone who had to be doing _something_.  It was why he’d ended up calling Phil almost from the moment they’d gotten to their room.

If Patrick had been alright, as Deborah Morrison had insisted, then he would have called them to let them know he wasn’t going to come and pick them up.  Patrick wouldn’t have just left them with a complete stranger, even one he’d trusted.  No, there was something going on, and Canton needed to know what it was.

He didn’t think his grandson was dead; no, if that had happened Canton knew that either Harkness or Jones would have been there themselves to meet them.  Plus, it had been obvious that Deborah hadn’t been lying about that, at least. 

No, whatever it was, Patrick was alive.  It was just the not knowing and not being able to be there for Patrick that has Canton tied up in knots.

“Wil you settle down?” Pat requested from his seat on the king-sized bed.  He had his back against the headboard, his laptop open on his thighs.  While he was officially retired, he couldn’t go anywhere without his computer.  “Phil will get to the bottom of things.”

His husband had a point.  If anyone could find out what was happening with Patrick, it was Phil.  He’d been the first person Canton had thought of calling, since he had contacts within Torchwood and the security clearance to make the actual enquiry.  He would have to wait and see what his son’s wife’s brother would come up with.

He only hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in forwarding on Patrick’s CV to Torchwood.

No, he reconsidered that thought.  Canton hadn’t made a mistake.  Patrick had been wasted in the FBI; he would have been more at home at SHIELD, but Patrick had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps.  It had gotten him into a dead-end job that was more CSI that field agent and Patrick had been really unhappy about it. Phil had actually approached Patrick about leaving the FBI and coming to work for him, but Patrick had declined, not really wanting to work directly for his uncle.  And working for the CIA was out of the question; Patrick’s mother, Maggie, had made certain that Patrick knew exactly what she did for them and that she didn’t want him to do the same thing.  Maggie was damned good at her job, but she didn’t want her son to become a killer like she had.

It had led Canton to Torchwood.

And from what Patrick had told them, he was truly happy working with Harkness and his team.  His grandson had made friends in Cardiff outside of his team as well.  He finally felt that he’d found a job that he would stay in for however long he was able to. 

But damnit, Patrick had only been working for Torchwood for a couple of months and this was what happened…

He was jolted out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

Canton physically jerked, reaching for the phone from the bedside table where he’d tossed it after he’d spoken to Phil.  Fumbling with it for a second, he had it flipped open without bothering to check the caller ID.  “Hello?”

_“Hey, Granddad.”_

Canton felt himself relax for the first time since he’d seen that young stranger at the airport.  He quickly put the phone on speaker, sinking down onto the bed next to Pat when his knees turned to jelly.  “Are you alright?”

_“Yeah.”_ Patrick really sounded tired, and all Canton wanted to do was track him down and give him a hug.  He wasn’t a very touchy feely sort, but when it came to his only grandson a lot of his personal rules went right out the window.  _“It’s just been a hell of a morning, that’s all.  I’m really sorry I didn’t warn you about Deborah.  With everything that’s happened I forgot my phone at home and…well, it’s just been incredibly stressful.”_

In that moment, Canton forgave Patrick.  It wasn’t even a conscious decision; after all, this was his grandson, so it wasn’t a choice.  Yes, he was upset that Patrick hadn’t called them about not being able to be at the airport, but he could deal with that. Patrick was alive, and that was all that counted.

_“Hey, one sec…”_ The phone was pulled away from Patrick’s mouth, and Canton could hear someone speaking to his grandson.  _“Are you sure?”_ He asked whoever it was who was talking.  _“Alright, I’ll tell him…Granddad, Ianto wanted me to tell you that he’s coming to the hotel to talk to you and Grandpa.  He…wants to explain what’s going on.”_ There was a lightness in Patrick’s words now, as if a weight had been lifted.  _“He’s going to make you sign stuff though…”_

Canton didn’t care.  He’d signed a lot of confidentiality agreements in his time.  He glanced over at Pat, and his husband was nodding.  “Have him bring the paperwork, son,” Pat answered.  “We’ll sign anything as long as we know what’s happening with you right now.”

_“He’s on his way now.  Granddad…Grandpa…just so you know, I’m really alright.  I do want to get off my feet though, and Ianto wants his phone back, so I’ll talk to you again as soon as you talk to Ianto.  I think he wants to bring you here to the Hub to see me, so you won’t be so worried.”_

Canton was surprised, to say the least.  He knew from Phil that Torchwood valued its secrecy a lot more than most, and to let Patrick’s family in…especially Pat, who’d been a journalist and exactly the wrong sort of person to be let into Torchwood.  “We’ll see you soon then,” he answered. 

_“Bye.  Love you.”_ The line disconnected, and Canton flipped his own phone closed.

“Now,” Pat said, “that wasn’t what I was expecting at all.”

“You and me both.” It made him rethink a lot of his preconceived notions about Torchwood, and its leaders.  He’d fully expected to be kept in the dark about what had happened to Patrick, and to know that Torchwood’s Second was coming to read them in on it…he was willing to bet that they hadn’t told Phil a thing beyond Patrick being alive and somewhat healthy. 

“Do you know why they’d decide to let us in on what’s going on?” his husband asked.

Canton shrugged.  “No idea.  I’m confused by it myself.  I’m hoping this doesn’t mean Patrick’s hurt worse than what we’ve been led to believe.”

It was the only reason he could come up with, despite having heard his grandson on the phone.  There was something going on, and while he was grateful that Harkness and Jones were going to share with them about Patrick he couldn’t help but think the worst.

Still, they’d know more soon.  Canton felt he could relax just a bit, and wait.

 

**********

 

Ianto Jones wasn’t at all what Canton had expected.

He was a young man; if he had to guess he would have put Torchwood’s Second at a firm twenty-five, which didn’t make sense considering he’d joined in 2000…that meant he would have been a teenager when he and Harkness had taken over the Cardiff branch, which was impossible.  It was his eyes that gave him away: they were much older than his face, and Canton had to wonder just what his true age was.

Jones wore an impeccable suit in a deep blue so dark it was nearly black, with a bright pink shirt and dark tie.  He looked more like a businessman than an alien hunter, and the file folder he held just added to that impression.  When Pat opened the door, Jones had greeted him with a pleasant smile on his handsome face, and with a firm handshake, introducing himself politely.  He then turned that bland friendliness on Canton, and it reminded him of Phil in many ways. 

Jones’ hand was overly warm, and that was just one more thing that Canton chalked up to the mystery of Torchwood’s Second in Command.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Jones said, his accent obviously Welsh.  From what Canton had been able to discover about him – which wasn’t much – he’d once owned an inn before Harkness had discovered him prior to taking over Torchwood Three.  Beyond that, there was no mention of Jones’ family and Canton had naturally assumed that they were all dead.  “I just wish it were under other circumstances.”

“To be honest,” Canton returned, “we’re both a bit surprised by this visit.”

Jones shrugged.  “Normally, we wouldn’t read family in on something like this.  But we know your backgrounds, and Patrick vouches for you, which is good enough for me.  The Captain took a bit more convincing, but we agree that this is the best way to diffuse what could become a really bad situation.” Then his polite expression grew into a rather impish grin.  “Besides, as Jack rightly pointed out, we really don’t want Phil Coulson after us for damaging his nephew and then not telling anyone about it.”

The words were teasing, but Canton heard the word “damaged” and felt his panic set back in.  “Is Patrick really okay?”  He had to know, and having Jones standing there he felt as if he could judge if the man was telling the truth.

“He is.”

That wasn’t a lie.  Jones was being open with them, and Canton sighed in relief.  Next to him, his husband relaxed as well.  “What happened?” Pat enquired.

“I’ll need you both to sign these first.”  Jones set the file folder down on the room’s dresser, flipping it open to reveal a set of forms.  “This is for the Official Secrets Act,” he explained, separating the papers out into two separate stacks.  “You should be made aware that disseminating Torchwood secrets is an act of treason and is punishable by imprisonment and/or death.  We take this very seriously, so if you don’t feel you can keep what you learn confidential then don’t sign and I won’t explain or take you to the Hub.” He took a pen out of an inner pocket of his suit jacket, holding it out toward Canton and Pat.

There was really no question that Canton wouldn’t sign.  He’d been keeping secrets for decades, and this was just one more in a continuing set of them.  He took the pen and put his signature on the lines Jones indicated.  He then offered the pen to Pat; his husband signed with a flourish then held the pen back out to its owner.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”  Jones put the pen back into his jacket and then tucked the forms back into their folder. He then took something from his pocket; it was small, and shaped vaguely like a lipstick.  He touched something on the side and the tip of the device began glowing. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking…just what do you know about Torchwood?”

It had to have been some sort of scrambler. 

Canton decided to make himself comfortable on the bed, and Pat sat down next to him.  He regarded the young man standing next to the dresser.  “I know that Torchwood was founded back in the 19th century by Queen Victoria,” he answered, “although I don’t know why, only something vague about alien threats.  I know that the Doctor had been considered Torchwood Enemy Number One for quite a while, until Captain Harkness took over the Institute after Canary Wharf.  I also know that the destruction at Torchwood One back in 2006 was reported to have been caused by a terrorist attack, but actually happened when two alien races, the Daleks and the Cybermen, clashed and nearly eight hundred innocents were caught in the middle.  I know there were only twenty-seven survivors.  I’ve also read that there were at one point five branches of the Institute: One of course was destroyed by aliens; Two is in Scotland but there really aren’t any records of any sort of team working out of the area; Three is in Cardiff and it’s now the primary branch of the Institute; Four vanished somehow; and Five was in India and was shut down back in the 1920’s when the British Empire moved out.”

Jones looked impressed.  “Your knowledge is on point, Mr Delaware.”

Canton nodded, accepting the compliment.

“However, there’s one very important thing you don’t know.  In fact, it’s only known by a handful of people outside Torchwood: that the reason Cardiff has Torchwood Three is because there’s a Rift in time and space that runs right through the centre of the city.  Our end is fixed, and the other fluctuates wildly, so we never know what’s going to come through.  Most of the time it’s junk or useless items. However, there are times when it’s something very dangerous…or something living.  We have a thriving alien community here in Cardiff for those who are deposited here by the Rift and are stranded, cut off from their own planets or time zones.  It’s Torchwood’s duty to watch the Rift and clean up after it.”

This was news to Canton.  Certainly he’d wondered just what had made Cardiff an alien magnet, and now he had his answer.  He understood about London; he had on good authority that the city seems to be a target for alien invasions, and had been for decades.  But Cardiff…a Rift in space and time would certainly explain just what it was that aliens found so tempting. 

“I’m guessing this has something to do with what happened to Patrick,” Pat commented. 

Torchwood’s Second nodded.  “Last night…or I should say, very early this morning…there was a Rift alert that Captain Harkness and Patrick went out to take care of.  What they found was a shape-changing carnivorous alien that they ended up chasing into an alley, where Patrick was bitten in the arm while attempting to subdue it.  We did end up having to kill it in order to save Patrick’s life.”

Now, that didn’t sound too bad…

“After the fact,” Jones went on, “Captain Harkness took care of the wound and sent Patrick home.  However, when Patrick woke up this morning, he noticed that something was very obviously wrong.”

Now, _that_ sounded bad.  Canton felt his hear skip a beat, and a warm hand in his told him that his husband was just as worried.  “We were told he was okay.”

“He is.  There have been certain…affects, from the bite; affects that make it impossible for Patrick to be seen in public before we can take care of the issue.”

“But he is alright,” Pat confirmed. 

“Oh yes, don’t worry about that.”

Jones sounded assured, and it relaxed Canton’s wariness a bit.  He felt he could trust his grandson’s safety with these people; if he hadn’t done, he never would have sent on Patrick’s resume in the first place.  He’d heard some really strange things about Torchwood, but from his contacts in the intelligence and the alien hunter community he’d gotten as near the truth as he could get without having access to the incredible levels of security that was involved.

“The main problem,” Jones said, “was that we later discovered the type of alien that had bitten Patrick.  It’s a particularly dangerous race known as Nostrovite.  When the alien bit him, it transferred its egg into Patrick’s body.  This caused certain…changes, in Patrick’s body, changes that make it obvious something is very wrong with him.”

“Physical changes, I take it.”  Canton was still worried about his grandson, but it sounded as if Torchwood had things well in hand. 

“Yes, Mr Delaware.  Very apparent physical changes.  But this isn’t the only problem.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It might not be.”  Jones sighed.  “Nostrovites mate for life, according to the information we have on their race.  When the male – and it’s the males who carry the eggs for their species – transferred the egg to Patrick, it meant that he would be trackable by the female, who will do everything she can in order to reclaim the egg.  If he leaves the Hub, Patrick’s life would be in danger.  This is another reason why we can’t let Patrick out of our base.”

That did make sense.  It seemed as if this team was doing its best to look after their grandson, and Canton was grateful for that.  He suddenly had faith that these people would do their best with Patrick’s life, and was now glad he’d taken the initiative in getting Patrick a job with them.

When he’d first heard of Torchwood, he’d known almost immediately that Patrick would have fit right in.  He’d been wasted with the FBI, and while Canton had been sure that his grandson would have done alright with SHIELD, there had been something that attracted him toward this small group of alien hunters.  His husband had put his finger on it, when he’d said that Torchwood was ‘small yet mighty’.  Canton had always had a soft spot for perceived underdogs.

It hadn’t hurt that he’d heard through the grapevine that Harkness had travelled with the Doctor.  That automatically put him on a completely different level from the rest of the planet.

Also, from what little Patrick had told them, he was perfectly happy with working on Harkness’ team.  Patrick had alluded to something else, something that he couldn’t elaborate on due to security, but it had made certain things clear to Canton; one of them being that Patrick truly belonged where he was.  His co-workers appreciated him and his bosses respected him. 

He was seeing that now, in the fact that Ianto Jones, the Second in Command for Torchwood, was standing in their hotel room, sharing with them knowledge that he really shouldn’t be handing out simply because they were the grandparents of their team member and were worried about him. 

Canton was impressed.  He just couldn’t help himself.

“You say there’s another of these aliens out there,” he stated.

Jones simply nodded.

“What are you planning on doing in order to find that one?”

A grimace passed over Jones’ face.  “There’s…still some debate about that.”

“But you do intend on tracking it down,” Pat said.

“We are, yes.”

“And you said this was a shape-shifter.”  Canton was glad that Pat had brought that up.  How could they find something that could be anyone?

“Yes, the Nostrovite are that.”

Something then occurred to Canton, and his eyes narrowed.  “You also said that this other Nostrovite would be able to track this egg.”  It was dawning on him just what the debate was over, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“That’s correct.”  At least Jones was being totally honest with them, although he looked as if he was beginning to regret being the one to bring them the news.

Canton couldn’t blame him one bit, and thought he was being pretty courageous about the whole thing.  The man could have very easily lied through his teeth and yet he hadn’t.  “One of those plans don’t happen to be using our grandson as bait to bring this alien out of hiding?”

“It’s…being discussed.”  That was said reluctantly. 

Canton could tell that Jones didn’t like that plan at all.  His respect for him went up another notch.  This was someone who didn’t want to put his people in unnecessary danger. 

“The main issue,” Jones went on, “is that the female Nostrovite doesn’t just ask for her child politely.  She will track it down and rip it from Patrick’s body.  So…you can understand why this is a last-resort plan.”

Canton felt Pat shiver beside him, and it was a close thing that he didn’t do the same.  Yes, he was grateful that Jones was being honest with them, but at the same time the very idea that they were even _considering_ such a plan made him ill. 

But Canton had been on the same end of such plans before.  He’d been in the danger zone, and had come out on the other side fairly intact.  Hell, he’d gone up against aliens that no one ever remembered seeing!  And he’d had people at his back, who stood with him against the Silence and who’d figured out a way to destroy them and their secret invasion.

It would be the same with Patrick.  His grandson’s team would be firmly in his corner, and wouldn’t let anything happen if they could avoid it.  Canton found himself believing in Torchwood even though he didn’t know them at all.  They’d look after Patrick as well as they possibly could.

He just didn’t want that to be an option, and he said so.

“I agree, Mr Delaware.  But I think, ultimately, it would be up to Patrick to decide what he wants to do.  We certainly have the means to remove the egg without any danger to him, but that would still leave the female Nostrovite out there.  He has to decide what he wants to do.”  Jones rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want him to decide that.  We can find a way to hunt down the other alien and take her out of the equation.  But I think you both know Patrick well enough to know what he’d decide.”

Yes, Canton did.  Patrick would want to keep anyone from getting hurt by this Nostrovite.  Really, his need to protect had led him to the Army, where he’d excelled.  It had also made his accept the job that the FBI had offered after going through two tours of duty.  Yes, that job with the Feds hadn’t been what Patrick had thought it would be, but he’d done it well. 

And now, he had the means to help people on what was almost a global scale, even if he had to start with this single piece of Great Britain.

“Can we see him?” Pat asked.  His hand was still in Canton’s, holding on for dear life.

Jones smiled sympathetically. “Of course you can.  Come with me, and I’ll take you to him.”

Canton got up from the bed, not letting go of his husband’s hand.  They were going to see Patrick, and find out just how far their grandson was willing to go to stop this alien from whatever it was it was planning.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

 

Patrick had finally given in to the urge to snack again, and had thus finished off the pickles and crackers, and was tempted to eat what was left of the Marmite. He was incredibly nervous about his granddads coming to the Hub, even as he was glad that Ianto and Jack had decided to let them in on what was going on.

It didn’t help that there really wasn’t a good plan in place to deal with the mother Nostrovite.  It came down to two choices:  destroy the egg he was carrying around in his abdomen and try to track the Nostrovite down; or to let her find him and stop her when she tries to retrieve the egg.  Neither plan was really a good one, and Patrick knew which one he’d go with, but it was convincing the rest of the team to do it that would be difficult.

Not to mention his granddads…because he didn’t doubt that Ianto had shared what was going on with them.

Owen had completed the autopsy, and the Nostrovite was now safely frozen in the Vaults.  Strangely a part of him was sad that it was dead, and that was even after he’d been bitten and had been implanted with this egg.  It wasn’t the Nostrovite’s fault really; it was only doing what nature created it to do.  It couldn’t help its basic instincts.

At the same time, though, the Nostrovite didn’t belong on Earth.  Its presence here was wrong, and it needed to be stopped.  Torchwood couldn’t allow a dangerous alien like that free reign on the planet.  It was up to them to do what needed to be done.

Patrick found himself unconsciously stroking the mound of his stomach and forced himself to stop.  He couldn’t wait to get this thing out of him.  His feet were aching and he felt so incredibly bloated and unable to move off his place on the sofa.  He felt as if he’d been sitting there forever; his ass was sore from all the enforced inactivity and while the couch was fairly comfortable he felt trapped there.  However, it kept him in the midst of the action, which was just where he wanted to be.

From his place he could witness Toshiko work her magic on her computers.  She was amazing to watch, her fingers dancing on the keyboard like she was some sort of virtuoso, doing things with mainframe that no one else could.  She was trying to track Rift energy through the city, hoping to be able to track the other Nostrovite to wherever she was hiding.  Tosh wasn’t having all that much luck; the city was practically bathed in Rift energy, after all, so it was slow going, like trying to find a needle in a cosmopolitan haystack.

Rhys was searching the police band for anything that might be a Nostrovite attack.  From what Jack had said, the aliens were voracious eaters, so there should be some sign of it somewhere in the city, either by an attack or something left over from one.  So far, there had been nothing at all, and Patrick could tell that his friend was getting frustrated by the lack of results.

Deborah was still insisting on waiting on Patrick hand and foot.  He thought she’d make a wonderful mother someday, and hoped she might find someone she could love and have a family with.  She wasn’t quite as deep into Torchwood as everyone else, and Toshiko made it work with Kathy.  Hell, Jack and Ianto made it work, and look at them!  Those two were busier than any of them, and yet they still managed to get home at nights when the Rift wasn’t blowing up.

As for Owen…there was Diane, and that was the ultimate in long-distance relationships.  The medic was currently banging around in the autopsy bay, getting the microtron calibrated and ready for use.  Honestly, the thing was huge and it kinda intimidated Patrick a little, knowing he’d have to climb into that machine.  Still, this egg had to come out, and Patrick really wanted it gone.

Jack was in his office.  He hadn’t been happy about letting his granddads in on Torchwood, but Ianto had prevailed and Patrick had put his two cents’ in as well.  Rhys had jumped on the bandwagon, reminding their boss of how they’d trusted him in on Torchwood before he’d even come to work for them.  Plus, it wasn’t like Granddad Canton didn’t already know about aliens, since it had been him to have recommended Patrick to Torchwood in the first place. 

Ianto had been the one to go and speak with them, admonishing the team before he left that, just because they were being read into Torchwood didn’t mean they needed to know about Ianto’s being a dragon or that Jack was immortal.  That would be something to come later, if Jack and the dragon decided they could be trusted and if they needed to know.  Personally, Patrick thought they could be let in on their secrets, but at the same time it was up to the two of them.

“Here.”  Deborah was smiling at him as she passed him a cup of coffee. 

Patrick took it gladly, inhaling the strong scent.  “You are a lifesaver,” he said, returning her smile. 

She settled onto the sofa next to him.  “It’s no problem, really.”

He propped the warm mug onto his protruding belly, the bump there making an excellent table.  “You’ve been cleaning up after me all day.  Thanks.”

“I’m glad to help,” she answered.  Her eyes met his for a moment, and then she continued.  “When I was ten, my Mum got pregnant with my little brother.  It had been a surprise to her because the doctors had claimed she’d never have any more children after me.”  Her face turned sad. “I was really too young to understand when Mom lost him.  But I always wondered if I had taken care of her she might have gone to term with him.”  She shrugged.  “I know it’s not the same thing, because you’re not carrying a real baby…but I just feel like I need to help when I can.”

Patrick gave in to the urge to hug her, and his arm went around her shoulders.  Deborah snuggled up against his side, her feet coming up to curl against the end of the sofa, her hand on the swell of his stomach.  His heart went out to her, and he was going to blame the pregnancy hormones that he definitely _wasn’t_ falling prey to for the misting up his eyes did.  “You are amazing,” he whispered into her hair. 

He felt her shrug vaguely.  “No, not really.”

“Yes, really.  Even without knowing your history I’d think it.  You’re…well, you’re kinda like the sister I never had.” 

That had her relaxing even deeper against him.  “You’re not so bad yourself, Patrick.”  He could hear the smile in her voice.

Really, if she hadn’t been spat out by the Rift into another time, Patrick was certain Deborah wouldn’t be working for Torchwood.  He was fairly sure she didn’t regret that much on the good days.  He certainly couldn’t imagine the place here without her.

Patrick had lost track of time – which seemed to keep happening ever since this egg had ended up inside him – and was brought out of the light doze he’d fallen into when the alarm on the cog door sounded, jerking him upright, dislodging Deborah, and nearly sending the now-cold coffee spilling all over himself.  He cursed and managed to steady the mug as Deborah sat up, and he missed her warmth immediately.

He glanced up, and watched as Ianto entered the Hub, followed by two very familiar men.  He grinned as his granddads both boggled at their surroundings; pretty much the same as he had, when he’d first set foot into the Hub.

Myfanwy took the opportunity to fly by overhead, letting out her distinctive cry as she did.  Granddad Canton managed not to jump in surprise, but he couldn’t say the same for Grandpa Pat.  “Is that a pterodactyl?” Pat nearly squeaked.

Patrick laughed for the first time since he’d discovered his ‘pregnancy’, and then had to wheeze to get his breath back.  Damn thing was pushing up against his lungs something awful.

Both his grandfathers looked in his direction as they heard him.  Granddad Canton’s eyes went wide, and Grandpa Pat’s mouth dropped open.  “When Mr Jones said there’d been physical changes in you, son…I don’t think we were expecting this!”

Patrick couldn’t help the smile that curved upward at his Granddad’s words.  “Congratulations!” he exclaimed.  “It’s an alien egg!”

That earned him a snort from his Granddad, and a fond shake of the head from his Grandpa.  “It must not be too bad if you’re joking about it,” Pat said.

“It really is that bad,” Jack’s voice cut off Patrick’s sarcastic comment.  His boss was standing at the door to his office, arms crossed over his chest.  His eyes were on the two strangers in the Hub, and Patrick could see the wheels turning in Jack’s head as he processed the fact that non-Torchwood personnel he wasn’t personally familiar with were in his domain. “It’s just that you learn to not take such things seriously.”  Then he turned on his famous mega-watt smile on their visitors.  “Welcome to Torchwood, gentlemen.” 

Canton returned the smile with an expression that said he was honoured to be there but wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit.  “Captain Harkness,” he said, moving closer and holding out his hand.  “Thank you for letting us see our grandson.”

Jack accepted the handshake.  “He’s family, and family’s important.”

That seemed to earn Jack some brownie points with both his grandfathers.  He then completely lost them when he added, “Plus having two handsome men in the Hub is a bonus.”

Pat also offered his hand, and Jack nodded to him in greeting as he took it, a flirty grin on his face. 

“Didn’t know we’d be getting so domestic in here when I was hired.”  Owen’s snark cut across the silence that had descended like a hot knife through butter.

Jack shook his head.  “Let me introduce you.  The bastard who just said that is Owen Harper – “

“ _Doctor_ Owen Harper.”  The medic rolled his eyes.  “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Our medic,” Jack went on as if Owen hadn’t interrupted.  “Doctor Toshiko Sato, our technician extraordinaire…”

Tosh looked up from her work, giving both men a friendly smile.  “It’s a pleasure.  Patrick’s told us so much about you.”

“And he’s told us hardly anything about you,” Canton countered, one side of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.

Patrick sighed.  Like he was going to break security protocol and tell anyone about his co-workers?  His parents had raised him better than that!

“And this is Rhys Williams, our logistical manager.  He also keeps us supplied and is a wizard on the internet.”

“Not so much a wizard,” Rhys replied from his workstation, looking slightly embarrassed at the praise.  “Just someone who wants to make sure eBay remains a safe place for the rest of the world.”

“And of course we’ve already met,” Deborah said, standing.  “It’s nice to see you both again.”

“She’s been looking after me while I’m…well.” Patrick motioned to his distended belly.  “Since apparently I’m having pregnancy symptoms I shouldn’t be having.”

“When your Mom was carrying you,” Grandpa Pat said, “she used to eat the weirdest things…”

Patrick wasn’t about to admit that he’d been doing the same thing.

His grandfathers seemed to be taking this very well, but then at least his Granddad Canton was a bit used to weird shit.  After all, he’d been hunting down aliens since before Patrick had been born.  He did wonder if there’d be some sort of freak-out later on, and he could certainly understand if there were…after all, he’d done the same thing that morning.

“And I told you,” Owen countered, “that your blood tests are showing elevated levels of hormones associated with pregnancy.”

“How is that possible?” Canton asked.

“From what I can tell,” the medic said, “is that there’s something in the Nostrovite’s saliva that triggers hormone production.  I think it’s done so whatever’s injected with the Nostrovite egg is fooled into thinking it’s an actual pregnancy.  Of course, humans don’t puff up overnight, so that was a dead giveaway.”

“That…makes an odd sort of sense, I suppose,” Pat said hesitantly.

“Yeah, but it’s playing havoc on my nerves,” Patrick whined.  “My ankles are twice their normal size and I have to piss every few minutes.  And I’d blame dust on my eyes watering but I know for a fact that Ianto keeps this place practically sterile, so there’s no chance of that.”

The dragon snorted.  “It’s a losing battle, I promise you.”

His grandfathers came over to him, Pat sitting down on the sofa and Canton staring down, his dark eyes knowing.  “You’re not even here for half a year and you’re already in trouble.”

Patrick wasn’t at all intimidated.  He simply shrugged.  “And this is something new?”  He knew damned well his parents were always insisting he’d inherited the combined Delaware-Coulson trouble gene.  Along with the early-onset hair loss Patrick had been doomed even before he’d been conceived.

His comment had gotten him a snort of his grandfathers and eye rolls from the Welsh members of the team…who, as a people, had the whole eye-rolling thing down to a fine art.  Patrick had often wondered if it was something learned, or if it was a part of the Welsh gene pool.

“Do we have any good news?” Jack asked, bringing proceedings back down and to the point.

Toshiko sighed, frustrated.  “I’ve tried to scan for any sort of residual Rift energy, but that was a longshot to begin with.  There just isn’t anything different in the scans we’d taken from the male Nostrovite to differentiate between the mother alien and half the alien residents in Cardiff.”

“Nothing from me, either,” Owen added. “I’ve run all the tests and I can’t add anything to Tosh’s search.”

“And nothing’s coming from on police channels,” Rhys reported.  “I’ve even spoken with Andy, and he says they’ll put out an alert, but what can they even look for?  The bloody thing’s a shape-shifter, and all we’ll have is a body she leaves behind to show she’s even been somewhere.”

Jack’s face darkened, and Patrick could read him enough by now to know that he didn’t want to consider the alternative.  “We can’t wait until she kills someone,” he pointed out.  “We need to find her now.”

That got him a rather dirty look from one of his grandfathers, and a worried look from the other.  Pat stood up and tried to loom over Jack, but that never worked and Patrick could have told him that if he’d bothered to. 

“We don’t want to dangle you out as bait,” his boss swore.  “In your condition you wouldn’t be able to fight her off…and we know how resistant they are to bullets.  We’d need something more powerful if we’re going to destroy her.”

Then, as Patrick watched, Jack’s face brightened and a smile blossomed.

He had something on his mind.  Patrick didn’t know if he should be relieved or scared out of his wits.

“Jack,” Ianto said warningly, “you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Why not?” Jack pouted.  “We know it will cut through dragon scale…”

“But it’s an up close weapon,” Ianto argued.  “You’d have to be right up with the Nostrovite in order to use it.  That’s too dangerous.”

Patrick was puzzled.  “What are you two talking about?”  He’d been told not to mention anything about a dragon, and yet Jack had just said…

Both of his grandparents were listening intently.  They wouldn’t have missed the reference to a dragon, but he very much doubted they’d put it together with Ianto Jones. 

“We know it won’t be any problem getting close to the Nostrovite,” Jack waved off Ianto’s objection.

Ianto threw his hands up.  “It’s not _you_ getting close to the Nostrovite, Jack…it’s the Nostrovite getting close to _you_!  It’s a dangerous creature!  You and Patrick got lucky when you were able to take down the male last night.  You can’t rely on that again!”

“We’re not relying on luck,” Jack argued.  “If we plan this just right, there will be very little danger of any of us getting hurt.”

“Excuse me,” Toshiko butted in.  She’d left her station and was glaring at both men as if her very vision could set them on fire.  “But are we talking about the Dragon Killer? Because, if we are, I thought that thing was supposed to stay locked up in the Secure Archives.”

Patrick felt the blood leave his face.  There was actually something that could kill Ianto? And Jack as thinking about using it on the Nostrovite?

He’d thought killing the dragon was nigh on impossible.  Even in Ianto’s comparatively weak human form he was tough as nails and could take more damage than anyone else on the team…even Jack, when it came down to it.  Jack though would merely die; Ianto would come after you like a wounded…well, a wounded dragon, really.  It didn’t seem possible that there was actually a weapon out there that would take out a dragon.

But then, Ianto’s entire family – his race – had been destroyed by human beings.  It did make sense there was something that would do it.  But it was inconceivable that Jack would keep something like that around the Hub!

Jack was trying to seem reasonable, and Patrick would have bought it if it hadn’t been the fire in his eyes.  “We need something that’s going to take down a Nostrovite.  That’s the only thing I can think of that can.”

“I don’t think it’s up to you, Jack,” Owen said, in the calmest tone Patrick had ever heard the medic use.  “I think it’s up to Ianto.  It rightfully belongs to him, after all.”

Now that caused Patrick’s mouth to fall open, he was so shocked.  An actual dragon owned something that was designed to murder his own race?  That didn’t make sense at all!

The dragon just stood there, his arms crossed, glaring at his mate.  Patrick could tell that Ianto was angry, but at what he didn’t know.  Was it because Jack wanted to use this thing, or was it because it would put Jack in danger?  Even though his boss could come back to life, it still hurt like a bitch to die, and Ianto hated it when Jack had to go through that.  They’d all seen it, how the dragon would react to Jack being killed, and he could say with absolute certainty that every member of this team felt the exact same way as Ianto did and would do everything in their power to prevent it.

“Excuse me,” he just had to interrupt, “but is there an actual plan, or is Jack talking out of his ass?”

That earned him a snort from Owen, and a headshake from Rhys.  Deborah and Toshiko simply were amused, and his granddads had equally bemused expressions.  Ianto was still glaring, but the intensity of it had faded somewhat in the face of Jack’s pout.

“Of course I have a plan,” the boss answered.  “It’s just not one that’s going to be popular, that’s all.”

“Jack,” Ianto murmured, “are you intent on using it?”

“I think it’s the only weapon we have on hand that might have a chance against the Nostrovite.  If we had something else, I’d be suggesting that instead.”

Ianto’s shoulders slumped in defeat.  “You’re right, of course.”  He headed toward Jack’s office, where the safe with the Secured Archives were.  “I’ll fetch it then.”

Once he was gone, Toshiko spun on Jack, her eyes snapping.  “This isn’t right.”

Jack held up his hand.  “I know, Toshiko, and I’m sorry.  But we need something that will stop that Nostrovite, and we can’t rely on luck to kill the mother.  She’s going to be completely motivated on getting her egg back, and that’s going to make her unstoppable.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so cavalier about it, but it really is our only chance if and when we find her.”

It was Tosh’s turn to give up.  “I don’t like it…”

“And you think I do?”

Patrick noticed that his grandfathers weren’t getting involved in the conversation, but that was just like them.  Granddad Canton was paying very close attention, and Patrick could tell he was putting things together in his head, but he wouldn’t have enough information to really formulate a response to what was going on. 

Grandpa Pat was busily filing things away.  He was the sort of person who collected all the available information first instead of attempted to figure things out on the fly.  It was what made him a good journalist.

The thing was, Patrick didn’t know what the hell was going on either, and he was the one who was in Torchwood.  This directly affected him; he was the one carrying the damned egg.  He’d have gone into the microtron the moment it was set up if he’d really had a choice.  Because, face it, it was either his wellbeing or some innocent out there in the Greater Cardiff area who just happened to get in the way of a homicidal mother after her kid.

Patrick knew the armoury inside and out, and tried to come up with something that they could use instead of whatever the hell he had in mind, but there was nothing.  They had a couple of fancy-looking ray guns, but none of them worked.  He’d always intended to see about putting at least one of them back together; the Rift was often rough on the tech that fell through it, and any piece of advanced weaponry had seemed to fall victim to it.  After everything was back to normal – or as normal as things got in Torchwood – he was going to make it a special project to get at least one of them working.

He’d also have to speak to his uncle about getting him some more explosive…no, maybe he should ask either Natasha or Clint.  Surely they’d be able to get him _something_ that he could smuggle into the Hub, and get him past Jack and Ianto’s rules about plausible deniability and how it was fine to break the rules as long as they didn’t catch anyone at it.

Ianto came down from Jack’s office, holding something in his hand.  It was about two and a half feet long, and narrow, and when the dragon got closer Patrick saw exactly what it was.

It was a sword.

The pommel was wrapped in stained and worn leather.  The cross hilt was curved slightly upward, and if he had to judge he would have said it was some sort of Celtic longsword.  The blade was pitted in places but generally well-cared for, and appeared to be razor sharp. 

Patrick had once asked Ianto about his family, and the dragon had admitted that they’d all been killed by Christian knights on their way home from one of the many Crusades.  He’d been vague about the timing, but Patrick thought it was more that it was a traumatic experience and had blocked a lot of it out of his memory than having actually forgotten. 

He would have bet any amount of money that this was the weapon that had slain Ianto’s family.  Although why the dragon would have wanted to keep it was beyond Patrick.

Granddad Canton’s eyebrows were both raised, but it was Grandpa Pat who said incredulously, “This is the special weapon you want to use on the Nostrovite?”

Ianto passed it over to Jack, who accepted it reverently.  “This sword _is_ special,” Jack said quietly.  “It’s called the Dragon Killer, for the obvious reasons.  And, before you say anything, dragons are very real.  There’s only one left out there, and he gave this to me for safekeeping.  It was wielded by the knight who murdered this last dragon’s family, and almost killed him as well.”

“There’s something…off, about it,” Toshiko whispered.  Patrick saw that Owen had come up behind her, and had his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort.  “The Earth doesn’t like it.”

“Probably ‘cause all the blood on it,” Owen growled.  He kept glancing between the sword and Ianto, as if trying to gauge the dragon’s reactions to the sword. 

Ianto’s face was pale, but he was holding himself together pretty well.  His fists were clenched at his sides and his spine was stiff, but he didn’t seem to be about to break down.  His eyes were shadowed, and Patrick had to wonder if he was remembering his family and how they died. 

He wished Jack had never suggested they use the damned thing. Some things were better left alone.

Rhys didn’t look happy about it either.  His own family had been worshippers of the older religions, and he had to have more knowledge of magic and dragons than most other people.  He must know just how…evil, that weapon was.  And Jack wanted to use it against the Nostrovite.

A hand was threaded between his elbow and his side, and Patrick glanced over to see Deborah back on the sofa beside him, as pale as Ianto was.  She didn’t like that blade either.  Patrick wanted to tell her that everything was going to be alright, that it was just a piece of forged metal, but he couldn’t.

This was an awful thing, and it was basically going to be used to save Patrick’s life.

That thought knocked the air out of his chest. 

Ianto was agreeing with this despite the terrible memories and the blood of his family on that steel.  It was for him, Patrick, and he just didn’t think it was worth it.

But Ianto thought he was.  It was a heady yet horrific thought.

Patrick didn’t know how to handle it.

He was saved from having to think about it overly much by Jack’s announcing his plan.

It went over about as well as Patrick had expected.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

 

Canton was livid.

But really, he’d been expecting this sort of plan.

It made sense.  He didn’t have to like it though.

“We can control the circumstances of the contact,” Harkness was saying.  “We set things up just right and everything should go to plan.”

“You’re actually going to use our grandson as bait for this thing.” Pat was as angry as Canton himself was, and not afraid to show it.

“Grandpa,” Patrick sighed, “I want to do this.”

“There has to be some other way!”

“There isn’t.”  Patrick looked tired; there were dark circles under his eyes and his very posture screamed how uncomfortable he was even sitting on the ratty old sofa in the Torchwood Hub.  His stomach was bloated unnaturally and it hurt Canton to see it.

The young girl, Deborah, was sitting next to him, leaning against him, showing her support.  She obviously cared for him, as did the rest of the team as far as Canton could tell, but this plan wasn’t a good one if it involved putting Patrick in danger like that.

Then he reconsidered that thought, and had to laugh at himself for even thinking it.

That startled the entire group into silence and caused every eye in the place to land on him. 

“What’s so funny?” Pat demanded angrily.

“It really isn’t funny,” Canton admitted.  “But I was just thinking that Patrick shouldn’t be put in the line of fire like that…but this is his job.  It’s the exact same job he did in the Army, even if he was more of a sniper than anything else.  And I’m the one who submitted his details to Torchwood, knowing that it would put Patrick on the front line of alien hunting.”  He reached out and took his husband’s hand.  “This is how our grandson is, Pat.  He puts his life on the line for innocent people who don’t have a clue as to what’s out there.  I’ve done it…you’ve done it…Maggie and Everett and Phil all do it.  We do what’s right for the world and don’t put ourselves first.  And I think we’ve forgotten that.”

Pat visibly deflated as his words sunk in.  “I know, it’s just…”

He really didn’t have to say anything.  Canton understood.

“I will swear to you,” Harkness growled, “that I will protect my team with my life.” 

Canton regarded the leader of Torchwood Cardiff.  Harkness’ face was stern; gone was the flirty pretty-boy that had been on display when he and Pat had first entered the Hub.  This was the leader that Patrick respected, one that was willing to do whatever it took to make sure his people were safe. 

There was a naked and really ancient sword in his hand, but instead of looking completely ridiculous it just pressed home the fact that Jack Harkness wasn’t someone to be fucked around with.

The sword – Dragon Killer, it had been named – just seemed dangerous.  It was a piece of metal with some leather attached, but there was something about it…Canton wondered what Dr Sato had meant about the Earth not liking it.  Also, the idea that dragons had been real wasn’t something he’d been expecting to hear.  That there had once been actual, honest-to-God dragons in the world seemed like a fantasy to him, and he really wanted to scoff at it.

But this was Torchwood, chartered by Queen Victoria in order to protect the Realm from what she’d called phantasmagoria.  Had she known about the existence of dragons?  Had they been one of the many things that she’d wanted to protect the British Empire from?

Canton wanted to ask more, but he just knew he didn’t have the clearance for it.  However, he could put things together, and while they didn’t add up quite right he could probably get close.

The sword had belonged to Jones.  Had it been in his family?  It was certainly old-looking enough to have been passed down, even if it was well cared-for.  Had Jones’ family been dragon slayers for Torchwood, or more likely the British throne?  Was that what made an inn owner qualified to work for such a covert organisation?

If he had been, it was apparently something he didn’t like to think about.  Jones had been really upset about using the sword, and somehow Canton didn’t believe it was because it wasn’t what the weapon was meant for.  There was something else, below the surface, and he didn’t have enough information to put everything together into a cohesive picture as yet.

He was also sure that Patrick didn’t know the whole story himself, at least about the existence of the sword.  Judging from his grandson’s face he was also seeing it for the first time, and if Canton had to guess Deborah and Rhys Williams were in the same boat.  Which meant it was an item that no one really wanted to be put to use, and most likely its presence in the so-called Secure Archives hadn’t been as much a secret as it just wasn’t spoken about.

He really wanted to know what made it so special.  And what made Harkness think it would work.

“We can use one of the more remote safehouses,” Harkness said.  “We’ll surround the place and be ready when the Nostrovite comes to collect her egg.  When she does, we’ll stop her.”

“How can we be sure she won’t see us and take a runner?” Harper asked dubiously.

“We don’t, but what we do know is she’ll want to get her offspring, and she’ll be desperate if she knows her mate was killed.  It would be her only chance to have a child, since the Nostrovite mate for life.”

While Canton understood the need to stop the alien, there was a small part of him that felt sad about having to kill both mother and child.  He’d had to do worse in his time working for the government – aiding an act of near genocide against an invading alien race had only been the tip of the iceberg – but there was something innately tragic about this situation. 

They were basically trading an unborn child’s life for his own grandson’s.  But Canton couldn’t regret it.

“We want to be there,” he said before he’d even realised he was talking.

Harkness shook his head.  “You’re civilians.”

When Canton opened his mouth to deny that, Torchwood’s Director went on, “You might have been deep in this business at one point, but…forgive me…both you and Mr Andrews aren’t young anymore.  I don’t think either of you would be able to keep up if we ended up having to chase the Nostrovite down.”

Canton appreciated Harkness’ bluntness even as he hated the insinuation that he was too old to do what needed to be done.  The man was right, though, and Canton had to face it.  His knees were bad, his eyes weren’t what they used to be, and despite still being active after all these years there was no way he could hope to handle the sort of strenuous action that might have been required without possibly giving himself a heart attack.  Seventy-four years old wasn’t a good age to go alien hunting.

Still, there was that familiar burst of adrenaline that he’d almost forgotten what felt like.  He’d missed it, but there was no way he could do anything about it.

This sort of thing was for the young.  And Canton wasn’t that anymore.

“You’re right,” he capitulated, enjoying the surprise on Harkness’ face.  “We’d only be a hindrance.”

“Besides,” Patrick said, “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what was going on if you and Grandpa were there.  I’d be too worried about you both.”

“I’ll stay with your grandparents,” Deborah volunteered.  “I’m not a field agent anyway, and that way they can remain here in the Hub until everything is over.”

“Deborah can also monitor the situation through the comms and CCTV,” Dr Sato added. “She knows how to run an op from here, and she usually does that anyway when we’re in the field.”

That made Canton feel a bit better at being left behind, and he could tell it did his husband as well.  They might not have been onsite during the mission, but at least they’d know what was going on in real time.  It was enough.

He felt a hand on his shoulder; it was Jones, and Torchwood’s Second met Canton’s gaze with his too-old eyes.  “We’ll take care of Patrick; you have my word.”

For some reason, that made him feel a hell of a lot better.  There was something about Jones, something that engendered trust, and Canton couldn’t put his finger on what it was.  Perhaps it was the sheer earnestness he exuded; or maybe it had something to do with those eyes that had seen far too much for the man seeming so young.  Canton had thought he was in his twenties the first time they’d met, but he knew he’d need to revise that up by at least a decade.  He’d never met someone with such a baby face before.

Still, he nodded in acknowledgement of Jones’ vow.  He didn’t know why it meant so much, but he was glad to get it. 

“We need to get this show on the road,” Patrick interjected into that moment of silence.  “I can’t wait to get this thing out of me.  I need to go to the bathroom again.”

Deborah shook her head as Williams helped Patrick up off the sofa.  Patrick clapped the man on the arm as he waddled off into another area of the Hub, one hand on his back as if it was bothering him.

“I’ll be glad too,” Harper snarked, “I’m getting fucking tired of the whining.”

“Jesus,” Williams chuckled.  “You’re a right twat.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Not hardly, mate!”

The rest of the team reacted differently to the banter, but they were all amused by it.  Canton was glad that Harper wasn’t his personal doctor; his bedside manner sucked. Canton was certain he would have punched the man in the face within a week.

“Alright people,” Harkness brought them all back on point.  “We need to get everything together.” He turned to Dr Sato.  “We need one of the safehouses that’s covered by CCTV and is easily defensible. 

She nodded.  “Let me get into the database and see what I can find.”  She went back to the desk she’d been at when Canton and Pat had arrived, and began tapping away at the keyboard, her glasses reflecting the light from the monitors around her.

“Rhys.”  Williams stepped up at Harkness calling his name.  “I want you to help Patrick as much as you can.  Get to the armoury and bring out the biggest guns we have.  If the Dragon Killer somehow doesn’t take the Nostrovite down, we’re going to need alternatives.”

“You got it, boss.”  Williams was gone toward another room off the main area; he caught Patrick as their grandson moved past on his way back, tugging him along.  Judging from the security Williams had to go through to get them inside, that definitely was the armoury.

“Deborah,” Harkness continued, “make sure the SUV is gassed up and well supplied. We don’t want to run out of petrol in the middle of a chase if we have to have one.”

Deborah nodded, and left without saying anything.

“Owen, make sure the microtron is ready to go the minute we get back.”

“I’ll get my kit together,” the doctor said.  “That thing’s got nasty claws and teeth, and I wanna make sure I have plenty of antibiotics and shit.”  He turned away, took three steps toward an archway in the wall, and then looked back at Harkness.  “I’m also going to have the singularity scalpel on hand.  I know I’m shit at using it, but I want to make sure we can at least try it if something goes wrong.”

“You know I don’t trust that thing,” Harkness answered. “Even though it did work with Martha.”

Canton wondered who this Martha was, and just what the hell a singularity scalpel was.  It didn’t sound good, at any rate.

“We might not have a choice,” Harper pointed out. “If something happens and we can’t get Delaware back here in time…”

“Fine.  But it’s last resort only.”

Harper rolled his eyes.  “You don’t have to tell me.”  He then left to do whatever it was he needed to get things prepared.

“Jack,” Jones murmured, “can I speak to you in your office please?”

Such a look of tenderness crossed Harkness’ face that Canton felt he was intruding on something that should have been very private.  The hand not holding the sword came up to stroke Jones’ too-pale cheek.  “Sure.”  He ushered Jones toward the office, that hand at the small of the other man’s back as they walked together, the door shutting quietly behind them.

“You know,” Pat mused, “I think I have to wonder now if Harkness’ reputation was all it was made out to be.”

Canton doubted that too, after that display.  Much of what they’d heard spoke of Harkness as being a compulsive flirt and someone who wasn’t afraid to sleep around.  The flirting had been obvious, but this tenderness wasn’t what they’d been expecting, even after Phil had told them that the two leaders of Torchwood were together.  Now, they’d seen that first-hand.

Canton suspected that much of what they’d been told about Harkness, Jones, and Torchwood had been flagrant lies and exaggeration.

“Do you really trust they’ll look after Patrick?” his husband asked.

“I do, yeah,” Canton replied. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate. I was supposed to work today but the VPN connection to my office's remote desktop isn't connecting. Yay me! So you're getting this chapter a little earlier than I'm planned. One more chapter after this one, and then on to the next story. which is the Dragon-Verse version of "From Out of the Rain".

 

 

**_1 November 2008_ **

 

The safehouse was in a fairly nice neighbourhood, although Patrick couldn’t have said where it was.  He just wasn’t that familiar with Cardiff yet, plus he’d been a bit distracted by the object that was currently resting just below his ribs.

He’d been getting twinges for about an hour now.  They were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Owen had likened them as labour pains, although a lot less severe.  It meant it was almost time, and the mother Nostrovite had to be tracking him now, knowing that her spawn wanted to be born. 

It was only a matter of time.

Patrick should have been concentrating on the empty house around him, listening for any sort of sign that he wasn’t alone.  But he couldn’t, not knowing that his grandfathers were just on the other end of the comm in his ear, keeping surveillance on the area around the house and neighbourhood, watching out for anyone or anything that would be approaching.

That was, of course, the problem with having a shape-changer stalking you…you have no real idea what was coming to get you.

Patrick tried to relax back into the overstuffed chair he’d collapsed into on entering the house, but he couldn’t get past the notion that picking that particular chair had been a mistake.  It would be hell to get out of if he needed to move fast…not that he could actually do that.  He really had no idea how women coped with being this large during pregnancy.  He was pretty much stuck where he was if he was suddenly attacked.

The house itself Jack had chosen for their trap was certainly fancy enough.  It was a two storey, completely furnished, and in a quiet neighbourhood with just enough space between the houses around it that there could be almost total privacy.  Jack had claimed that he’d inherited it from the man who’d been leader before him; of course Patrick was aware of Alex Hopkins and what had occurred that fateful New Years’ Eve.  Jack had thought to sell it, but later decided that it would make an excellent safehouse for any number of humanoid aliens that might have either come through the Rift or who had decided to seek asylum on Earth.  It had been empty for a while now, and it made an excellent place to trap a Nostrovite.

Jack and Owen were in the kitchen, close enough to react if the Nostrovite came in hard and fast.  Ianto, Toshiko, and Rhys were on surveillance outside, as well as Kathy and Andy, the coppers on alert as well in case of neighbour complaints…which, this was Torchwood, chances were there would be noise and thunder involved.

Even though he was surrounded by allies, Patrick felt completely alone.  He also felt worse than helpless, which wasn’t a very nice feeling at all.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like that; he had to think back to his first tour in Afghanistan for that, the time his platoon had been under fire and he hadn’t been able to lay down enough cover for them all to get to safety.  His hands twitched on his reliable Glock resting on his swelled stomach; as much as he loved the weapons Torchwood had available to him, he always went back to his original piece.

Speaking of weapons…

Patrick really didn’t know what to think about that damned sword.  Even having a solid wall separating him from it wasn’t enough.  He wasn’t magically sensitive like the majority of his team but even he could tell there was something wrong with it.  It had taken Ianto explaining about it in the SUV on the way over to make Patrick’s vague feeling about it seem real. 

That was the sword that had murdered every single member of Ianto’s family. It had also been responsible for killing the dragon named Lisa, and Ianto had been the one to use it that time. 

Sure, Patrick knew there were ways to kill a dragon.  Ianto had claimed as much, and the senseless deaths of every dragon that had been slain at the hands of zealots proved that.  But Patrick did know it took a great deal of effort to do it, and the idea that a simple sword could cause so much death and destruction just didn’t seem likely.

And yet, it had.  And Jack was going to go up against the Nostrovite with it. 

_“Anything yet, people?”_ Jack’s voice murmured through the comm that Patrick was wearing

There was a chorus of negatives.  That didn’t make Patrick feel any better. 

The waiting was getting to him.  It was close to midnight, and the constant state of nerves he’d been in ever since he’d sat down in that damned chair was really weighing on him.  Owen had explained that it was all down to the hormones that were flooding his system from the Nostrovite infection, because usually Patrick was a pretty calm guy.  This though, was making him want to climb the walls.

He grunted as a pang went through his abdomen.  Instantly Owen was on the comm, asking him if he was alright; Patrick silently cursed for making any sort of noise while he answered, “Just another twitch, that’s all.”

_“They getting stronger?”_

“Yeah.”

_“The Nostrovite might be close by,”_ Jack cut in.  _“Everyone, stay sharp. Deborah, anything on the CCTV?”_

_“There’s a woman down at the end of the street,”_ she reported from the Hub, where she and his grandparents were sitting things out.  Patrick was so glad that Jack had talked them both out of coming along, because there’d been no way he could have handled having his grandfathers so close by and possibly in danger and not be able to protect them.

_“I see her,”_ Ianto said.  His voice was different over the comms, but Patrick knew he wasn’t transformed and on a roof somewhere, although he was most likely using his better than human dragon eyes to keep watch over the safehouse.  Toshiko hadn’t yet managed to create a comm for his dragon form.  There just wasn’t a way to get that sort of device to change size between human and dragon.  _“She’s wearing a black overcoat.”_

_“I don’t see…oh, wait,”_ Andy Davidson paused.  _“Yeah, got her.”_

_“No one move until she gets up to the house,”_ Jack ordered.  _“We need to make sure she’s the Nostrovite before we do anything in case we tip her off.”_

Patrick had to get up. He couldn’t sit there.  Pushing his hands against the arms of the chair, he tried levering himself up, taking far too much time to clamber to his feet.  He was out of breath by the time he managed, prompting a question from Owen about his condition.

Before he could answer, he heard a rustling noise from the bushes outside.

_“Damnit,”_ the dragon swore, _“she moves fast.  She’s just outside the window at the right side of the house.”_

Jack cursed in a language Patrick didn’t recognise.  _“Wait until she gets into the house.  We need her to be inside so I can take her out.”_

There was the sound of faint movements in the kitchen. Patrick was glad to know his team was so close, that they had his back. 

The window shattered.

A dark shape catapulted into the room.  It resolved into a blonde woman, dressed in black, coat tails flapping behind her as she stood.  She we beautiful in a sharp way, her face all hard angles and dark eyes.  “There you are,” she cooed, and Patrick just knew she wasn’t talking about him.

He took a step back toward the kitchen door, his Glock up and ready.  Bullets wouldn’t do too much damage, but Patrick was damned if he wasn’t going to get some licks in before Jack got his whacks in with that cursed sword.

Speaking of Jack, his boss came in through the kitchen door, the Dragon Killer outstretched and aimed at the Nostrovite’s throat.  The woman’s face morphed, turning dark, long needle-like teeth growing from her mouth, and she hissed as she jumped away from the swinging sword.

The Nostrovite chuckled.  “Like that’s going to work on me,” she hissed sibilantly, like a snake speaking.  Her hands were up, decorated with sharp claws as she darted forward, going for Patrick who was frozen in place. 

Shocked out of his immobility, Patrick backpedalled away from the dangerous alien.  Jack stepped in front of the lunging Nostrovite, swinging the sword once more, barking into his comm for the team to come in hot.  Patrick could hear the chatter over the open line as he managed to get in a shot, the Glock loud in the enclosed space.

The bullet struck the Nostrovite in the chest.  The alien shrieked, stumbled back, but then darted forward once more.  Jack was in the way, and he caught the brunt of the attack, claws raking down his chest.  Jack howled in pain, going to one knee, the sword’s point dipping toward the floor as the immortal went down. 

More shots came from the direction of the kitchen.  Patrick didn’t turn, knowing it was Owen behind him. He just pulled the trigger once more, and again and again, slugs hammering into the alien and forcing her backward and away from Jack. He heard Owen tell the others that Jack was down, but he managed to get the sword back up and with a weak thrust stabbed the tip of the blade into the Nostrovite.

Cramps shot through Patrick’s abdomen, and it was all he could do to remain on his own feet.  He gasped, and his gun also dropped, arm going across his stomach as if he could somehow press back the pain. 

The front door burst open, and more gunfire joined Owen’s as Toshiko and Rhys entered into the fray.  The Nostrovite was caught in a crossfire, and it shrieked as it tried to escape out the window it had come through.

There was an extremely angry dragon blocking her exit.

The Nostrovite reared back, hissing once more, at the sight of the dragon’s snout at the shattered window.  That put it right back into the line of fire, bullets making the alien twitch under the assault.  It was trapped, and it knew it, but it wasn’t giving up without a fight.

Those dark, malevolent eyes fixated on Patrick.  It was like being stared at by true evil.  He was pinned under that glare, and pain rippled up once more as the egg inside him shifted and moved. 

It was going to hatch.

Patrick cried out, falling to his knees, his gun thumping into the carpet.  His arms unconsciously went around his abdomen, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe but for the agony that flared through him.

He heard Owen cursing, and it barely registered that those words were about him.  He thought he could just make out his Granddad Canton on the comm, calling out to him, but Patrick couldn’t understand what he was saying.  His pulse was roaring in his ears, drowning out almost everything around him.

He managed to drag his eyes back up to the gun battle raging around him.  The Nostrovite’s black outfit was even darker now with blood, and it looked as if it was weakening.  Kathy and Andy had joined them, but neither one of them was firing, and a part of Patrick could tell it was because there were simply too many people in the room and that they would have run the risk of hitting one of his teammates.

Even in his current state, Patrick could tell that the Nostrovite, while badly wounded, was going to escape if something wasn’t done.

Jack was down, bleeding out from the deep wounds in his chest.  The Dragon Killer was beside him, close enough for Patrick to reach out and take.

Which was what he did.

Ignoring the pain as best he could, Patrick managed to get back to his feet, the sword sweeping up and over as he rose.  The blade actually sang in his bones, a terrible sound that had him wanting nothing more than to drop it once more and to curl up into a ball in the corner.

Instead, he kept swinging.

The Dragon Killer cut through the Nostrovite’s neck.

Her head hit the ground long before her body could, black blood spraying across the furniture and Patrick’s clothing.

Pain ripped through him, and Patrick went back down to his knees beside the body of the Nostrovite, losing his grasp on the sword that had decapitated the alien like a knife going through soft butter.  In that moment Patrick understood the power of that sword, and why no one should ever wield it ever again.

It had taken far too much blood, and had somehow gained a strange form of hunger that wanted more.

He was rolled over onto his back, and he couldn’t help but cry out at the change in position.  “Is this what labour feels like?” he managed to gasp as his eyes met Owen’s.  The medic was examining him frantically.

“Fucking hell,” he swore, “you couldn’t wait to get back to the Hub for this shit, Delaware?”

“Don’t think I had much choice.”

Owen began barking orders.  “Tosh, get my kit from the kitchen.  Ianto…Rhys, you’re gonna need to hold him down…”

“What about Jack?” Patrick rasped.  If Jack had actually died, then Ianto would want to be there for when he woke up.  His boss didn’t take too well at coming back to life alone.

“He’d say that getting you taken care of was much more important at the moment,” Ianto answered, his human form coming into focus on the opposite side from Owen. 

“I’m gonna have to use the scalpel,” Owen muttered.  “We don’t have time to get him back to the Hub and we need to get that shit out of him now.”

If Patrick was being honest with himself, the singularity scalpel scared the fuck out of him.  He’d seen what it did to Billy Davis, and that had been a mess.

However, he was pretty sure he would die anyway, so why not?

Still, he couldn’t help but say, “I’m not sure I want to be a test subject for you, Harper.”

“Too fucking bad.”  Owen had moved, and Rhys had taken his place. 

Patrick felt hands holding him down, keeping him from moving.  Owen was standing over him, the singularity scalpel in his hands, a look of concentration on his face.

“Hey, Ianto?”

“Yes Patrick?”

“If this doesn’t work, I wanna go home to America, okay?” He knew Torchwood regulations, but the last thing he wanted was to be shut away in the Vaults and his family not have something to bury.

The dragon’s eyes were understanding. “I will, but this is going to work so stop being overly dramatic.”

Patrick could hear his grandfathers in his ear, both of them shouting at him, wanting to know what was going on.  No one was answering, even though Deborah had to know what they were doing.  He blessed her for not telling them as another ripple of pain had his groaning and trying to thrash about.  Only the combined grips of Ianto, Rhys, and now Andy was keeping him as still as possible.

Yet another sharp pain stabbed through him as Owen activated the scalpel…


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for this story, I'm posting it today because, once again, I'm not able to log into the work computer so I decided to give everyone an early present. Hope you enjoyed it! Next up, "Last Breath", the Dragon-Verse version of "From Out of the Rain."

 

**_2 November 2008_ **

 

“Are all your missions like that?” Canton asked.

“Not usually,” Patrick admitted from the bed that Harper had had set up in the Hub on their return from taking out the Nostrovite.

Then his smile curved up into a smirk.  “Sometimes they’re worse.”

Pat snorted.  “I don’t want to know.”

Canton wasn’t sure he did either.

That had been a horrifying few hours that Canton didn’t want to live through ever again.  Hearing things through Torchwood’s comms system was most likely worse than seeing things first hand, he was certain.  Once the Nostrovite had gone into that house they’d lost all footage of her, and it had only been the sounds of gunfire and pain-filled groans to tell them what was going on.  And, when Patrick had told Jones that he wanted to be buried at home if whatever the hell Harper had done hadn’t worked…that was one of the worst moments of Canton’s long life.

He never wanted to go through that again.

It did bring home the fact that Patrick’s job was dangerous, and yet his grandson wouldn’t trade it for anything.  Patrick could have died, and yet Canton was aware that he’d never leave this team…not of his own free will, at least.  This was his grandson’s life, these people his adopted family, and it hadn’t been more obvious than when things had gone to shit in that house.

But Patrick was going to be fine.  Whatever the singularity scalpel was had worked, despite the doubts that had been raised on the scene.  The egg was gone, and its mother dead and in the morgue, waiting for Harper to autopsy her.  The sword had apparently worked where all the bullets that had been fired into it had not.  Everyone had come through relatively unscathed.

Well, he wasn’t so sure about that in Harkness’ case.

From listening over the comms, Canton had been certain that Harkness had died onsite.  However, Torchwood’s leader had come back in with the team, looking just fine except for the blood on his torn shirt. 

Canton could have sworn it was a killing wound, just from the position of those slashes.

But the man seemed perfectly fine.  He’d gone and changed his clothes after making sure that Patrick was settled, Jones following behind him, carrying that sword with him as they retreated to Harkness’ office.  Through the glass he could just make out Jones putting the sword on the desk and then reeling Harkness in for a kiss that had Canton’s toes curling even at the distance he’d been standing.  That had been his cue to go and sit with Patrick.

“Owen says I can get out of here later today,” his grandson was saying, “and then I’m off on vacation for the next several days.  Rhys is actually going to lend me his car, as long as I promise not to break any traffic laws in it, and then I have plans.  Jack promised to let Kathy know it was me in Rhys’ car, and to make sure she alerted the cops on the beat.”

Canton hadn’t met Kathy Swanson and Andy Davidson; the two police officers had stayed behind and cleared the scene.  He hoped to be introduced one day, as it was always good to have the local LEO’s on your side in a crisis, and the pair had acquitted themselves very well from what Canton had heard over the comm system.  He’d been a bit surprised that both of them carried guns, as the police in Great Britain didn’t as a rule, but Deborah had explained that since they worked closely with Torchwood on occasion they had special permission to do so. 

“Do you often have the local police ignore your traffic infractions?” Pat enquired.

“Well,” Patrick blushed slightly, “Ianto figures it’s just easier to make arrangements than to have to take care of any tickets I might get. Besides, he’s had plenty of practice with Jack.  That man has two speeds: stop, and bat out of hell.”

Canton could see that, actually.

So many things had occurred in just the day they’d been in Cardiff, and Canton didn’t know what to make of a lot of it.  He wanted nothing more than to ask Patrick, but there was no way his grandson would give him straight answers.  Yes, they’d signed Torchwood’s secrets paperwork, but Canton was well aware that there were a great many things that that form simply didn’t cover.  That sword, for one; dragons another; and didn’t get Canton started on how Harkness had been so badly wounded and yet had come back unscathed. 

Torchwood had a lot of secrets, and Patrick knew most of them.  And he couldn’t share.

Which was fine, actually.  Their family had started off keeping secrets from the moment Canton had set foot on board the Doctor’s time machine.  Yes, he’d used his adventures as bedtime stories for his son and then his grandson, but that had been the initiation of both of them into the circle of secrets that was their existence.  Everett and Patrick had grown up knowing they could never reveal the stories that Canton had told them to anyone else, which in a way wasn’t fair but Canton had _needed_ to talk about it. He’d needed to share the truth about the Doctor, and what he’d done to protect this planet.

Having met other companions, Canton had to wonder sometimes if his stories weren’t tame by comparison to anything else that might have been done.

Those stories had eventually led his grandson to this life, even if Canton had helped him get the job he had now. 

It had been a contest really; a contest to see who in the Delaware family could obtain the highest security clearance.  For the longest time that had been Phil, with his position at SHIELD.  But now, that crown had been transferred to Patrick, with his aliens and Rifts and terror that no one could really relate to.

He was proud of Patrick.  That would never change.  And Canton really didn’t regret sending that CV in, and arranging that plane ticket that he’d convinced Patricks’ former boss with the FBI to give him, to get him to Cardiff and into Torchwood.  He might have joked about wanting to get family members into every branch of the intelligence service, but Canton had known from the moment he’d heard of Torchwood that this was where Patrick belonged.  Not behind a desk at the FBI, teaching and doing crime scene investigation…but in the thick of things, saving the world.

Because that’s what Torchwood did.  They saved the world.

And now Canton knew exactly what that entailed.

Yes, he was indeed proud.  And he couldn’t tell anyone why.

Which was just the way he liked it.

 

 

_Fin_


End file.
